Terrors of the Night: Spite
by Kianda Daemon
Summary: A short horror story I tried to write in a Edgar Allan Poe way, minus the first person POV. Please, please, PLEASE, comment with constructive criticism so I can improve my horror stories. In any event, enjoy!


Once, very long ago, there were two friends-- two very odd friends, to be exact. They were a very odd couple, you see. One was old, very old in fact; what little hair he had on his head was white, and his tanned skin seemed to cling to his bones. This being said, one could infer that he was something like a walking skeleton. He was a man who lived alone-- he was married once, but his wife sadly died of a heart attack. As for his children, they lived far, far away from him. He hardly ever saw them, and rarely ever heard from them. He didn't even know if he had grandchildren or not. So yes, he was a very lonely man, and had only one friend named Robert.

Robert was very young-- in about his mid twenties. He had a beautiful fiance, and a nice house-- whereas the old man's house was rather broken down; some say it was over a hundred years old, but that is not important right now. This young man had a very promising future, as a matter of fact. He was not greedy or superficial. In fact, every now and then, he would even volunteer to help senior citizens. In fact, he seemed to enjoy helping this old man the most. The two of them became very close friends during the years in which Robert served him. Robert was really the old man's only company, you see.

The old man became very attached to Robert. He was like a son to the old man. He would usually keep Robert for hours talking to him about his past-- for what else did he have to think about besides the past? Robert felt very sorry for the old man, and even suggested putting him in a retirement home so he wouldn't have to be lonely. However, the old man refused, saying that his house held too many memories that he just couldn't leave behind-- he was a very sentimental old man.

While he was old, he was still very healthy-- he had that to be thankful for as well. In fact, he was probably the healthiest old man you'd ever meet. He didn't seem to have a single health defect-- probably because he hardly ever drank wine or any other alcoholic beverage; that, and he had a very healthy diet as well, and would always go for walks in the morning and evening. For a walking skeleton, he was actually rather quick. Robert would walk with the old man at times, and frequently had to pick up the pace just to keep up with him. In fact, it was during one of these evening walks in which tragedy struck.

It was a particularly hot summer's evening when this unfortunate event occurred. It was the hottest day of the summer, it would seem, and Robert insisted that the old man not go on his evening walk. However, the old man would have none of it, and insisted on going on his walk anyways. Robert relented, but he did say to the old man before they left:

"If you insist on walking, at least try not to walk too quickly. Exerting yourself too much might do more harm than good."

The old man agreed, and the two set off on their walk. The old man obviously lived a very slow life; it would sometimes get irritating and frustrating for him, which would explain why he enjoyed walking so quickly. When they started walking that evening, they started off very slow. The old man was content with it for a little while, but eventually he became slightly aggravated with their speed. So, very gradually and subtly, he started to go a little faster. At first, Robert didn't notice. But, he began to notice when the old man was suddenly a few steps ahead of him. He asked the old man to slow down a little bit, so he did.

However, as they continued to walk, the old man started to walk even faster than before (as people age they begin to get stuck in their old ways). Robert again asked him to slow down, and so he did. However, the cycle continued over and over again; finally, the old man actually broke into a run! Robert was amazed at how fast he was, but he nevertheless shouted for him to stop; the old man ignored him. Robert ran after him, but couldn't catch up with the old man; he was actually rather embarrassed by the fact that the old man was faster than he. The old man rounded a corner, and Robert lost sight of him. He gave himself a quick burst of energy and rounded the same corner.

The old man seemed to be slowing down.

"This is good," Robert thought. "Maybe now I can catch up to him."

The old man kept going slower, and slower. In fact, he now seemed to be struggling to run.

"Wait, something's wrong," Robert thought again to himself.

As he caught up with the old man, he placed a hand on his shoulder; the old man instantly collapsed, his eyes rolled up in the back of his head; he was also foaming at the mouth, his entire body twitching. Robert stared at him with widened eyes, his fingers twitching in shock as well. He quickly regained his composure then carried the old man back to his home and loaded him up in his carriage, and drove him to a hospital.

The doctors did all they could for him, but medical science was not as advanced as today's, you see. They reported him dead; a funeral service was held the week afterwards. Not even his own children had shown up; in fact, only Robert and his fiance attended the service. His children probably never even knew that their father died; a sad tale indeed.

However, the story is far from over, my friends. There is yet more to come.

The night after the funeral service, Robert was sitting in his study reading a book and enjoying a glass of scotch; what book he was reading is not important, however. He was saddened by the old man's passing-- however, he was not as attached to the old man as the ladder was to him; he never looked at the old man as a father figure. However, he was a good friend, and he mourned his passing (he was still wearing all black).

He rose from his seat to use the bathroom, setting down his glass and placing his bookmark in his book before closing it. When he returned, the bookmark had been removed and his glass was empty.

"That's odd," He thought, flipping through the pages of the book to find his place again. "I thought I put the bookmark in here."

He found his place again, and sat back down, not bothering to pour himself another glass of scotch.

When the hour began to grow late, he reached for his bookmark, but it was not to be found. He searched the room all over, but could not find it. He sighed heavily and dog-eared the page, set the book down, and went into another room to find something to mark his place with. When he returned, yet another strange thing had happened: the book had disappeared, as did his glass.

Frustrated, he went into his room to change into his pajamas. He fell asleep with minor difficulty, but the next day would hold many more strange things for him.

When he woke up, he found the book he was reading the night before sitting on his bed-side table, and with it, a full glass of scotch; in addition to this, his bookmark had also been slipped into the book, right in between the pages where he had left off.

"Well," He grunted as he got out of bed to start the day. "It would appear that inanimate objects are sprouting legs and walking around my house."

He sighed and laughed, and attributed all of this to sleep walking. He used to sleep walk often when he was a little kid; he thought that habit was long gone by now. It would appear that old habits die hard. He dismissed it, and went out into the kitchen to make himself breakfast. However, yet another mystery awaited him.

On the kitchen table, breakfast was already waiting for him! Two eggs and three slices of bacon with orange juice and a cup of tea; and beside the tray was the day's newspaper. Robert did not have any servants, so he did not know what to think of this. He hesitantly sat down at the table, and slowly began to eat. The food was fantastic; much better than what he could make, and he was none too shabby a cook either.

In fact, he felt like he had eaten food like this before. But he couldn't remember where, exactly.

After he finished eating, he picked up the paper and began reading. While he was reading, he had the strangest feeling that someone was watching him. Every few minutes, he would hear shallow, almost wheezing, breaths. Whenever he would hear this, he'd quickly look over his shoulder to see if he had an intruder. He never saw anything. This continued for a full hour, and eventually he couldn't take it anymore. He put his newspaper down and decided to go for a walk; some fresh air might calm his nerves.

As he walked towards his front door, out of the corner of his eye he could have sworn he saw a shadowy figure moving swiftly down the hallway. He spun around to see if anyone was there; once more, he found no one. He walked up and down the length of the hallway, looking for the shadowy figure again. Still, he found nothing. Defeated and nervous, he sighed and rushed out the door, locking it behind him without a second thought.

Robert returned to his house around noon. As expected, his walk helped calm his nerves just a little bit. He even bought some flowers and visited his fiance for a little while; however, he did not tell her about his strange morning, even though she could tell something was bothering him. He didn't want to tell her lest she think him mad. They were to be married in two months, and he did not want to ruin anything by making her think him crazy; it took him a year to convince her to marry him, and he was not about to let all his hard work go to waste. Spending some time with her did help calm his nerves, though, so some of the weight from the morning's activities was lifted off his shoulders.

However, he still was confused about how his breakfast was pre-made, and about the breathing he heard, and about the shadowy figure he caught a glimpse of out of the corner of his eye. He tried to blame it on stress, but that did not explain the breakfast. Perhaps while he was sleep walking, he made himself breakfast? He could have sleep walked early in the morning and made the food; however, the food he ate that morning was beyond his caliber as a chef. But that reason would have to do for now.

When he arrived home, he moved to unlock the door. However, when he stuck his key in the lock, he realized that the door was already unlocked.

"A burglar." He thought.

He crept inside his house, then quickly and quietly checked each room. As he scouted out his house, however, he thought he heard soft footsteps behind him. Every few minutes, he would check over his shoulder to see if there was somebody behind him. Just like before, he found no one. He began to pick up the pace as he searched his house; in turn, the footsteps behind him got quicker. Each time he checked over his shoulder to see who was there, he found nothing. He would not allow himself to give into worry and paranoia. He returned to his slow pace, double checking each room. This time, however, there were no footsteps. The only footsteps he could hear were his own. Satisfied that he had chased off the burglar (who apparently wasn't a very good thief, since he didn't steal anything), he went into the kitchen to fix himself lunch.

However, when he walked into the kitchen, he again saw lunch waiting for him! He stopped dead in his tracks, just staring at the food. His right eye twitched a little, and his forehead was now covered with cold sweat.

"This...this makes no sense," He said aloud to himself. "First breakfast, and now lunch? What is going on here! Am I going mad?"

Regardless of his current mental health, his stomach was growling.

"Well," He relented as he sat down to eat. "No use trying to figure this out on an empty stomach."

Just like breakfast, the food he ate for lunch tasted fantastic! Again, he felt like he had tasted this before, and again, he did not know where he had tasted it. He was thoroughly confused this time. There was no way this could be attributed to sleep walking as well. Someone was in his house doing all of this. There could be no other explanation. However, whoever it was obviously had no malicious intent; regardless, he still wanted to find out what was going on. After he finished eating, he decided to go lie down on the nearby couch to take a nap.

He had no intention of sleeping, however. He just lied there with his eyes closed, making it appear that he was asleep. After five minutes, he finally heard something.

Something-- or someone-- was picking up the lunch tray, and carrying it into the kitchen; he then heard running water. Someone was taking care of his dishes, like they had apparently done after Robert left to go for a walk this morning, seeing as how the plates used for breakfast had been washed and put away. Then he heard that same wheezy breathing, and a few sputtering coughs. Now Robert was curious.

He opened one of his eyes just enough so he could get a peek at who was doing all of this. However, when he looked to see who it was, there was no one there. He leapt off the couch, and looked around the room. Something very strange-- aye, unnatural-- was going on here. After a moment of complete stillness, he finally heard the floorboards upstairs creaking.

"A-ha!" He sneered triumphantly. "Now I have you!"

He quickly scrambled upstairs to catch his new "helper" in the act. However, by the time he reached the last foot of the staircase, the creaking had stopped. He quickly, almost frantically, searched each room upstairs two-- no, three times, before finally giving up. Defeated, he slumped into his chair in the study.

Cradling his head in his hands, he suddenly looked up when he heard a faint rustling. On the table in front of him sat a folded up note, bearing his name on the front. Frowning, he picked up the folded parchment and silently read it to himself.

_My young friend, why do you search so frantically? All that I have done for you is to show my appreciation for what you have done for me! Please, allow me to continue to aid you as you once aided me._

He almost immediately recognized the writing: This was written by the old man. But how was that possible? He was dead, after all.

"Wait," He thought to himself. "Perhaps this is his spirit trying to repay me for all that I have done for him. How nice..."

He smiled and took up another piece of paper, and wrote a note in response (it was his hope that the spirit would read this as well).

_My old friend, I would like to thank you for this. Even though it is not necessary, I appreciate the thought. You are welcome to help me until you feel you are ready to rest in peace._

He placed the note on the table, and picked up a book to read. He felt as if a great weight had been taken off his shoulders yet again, and he no longer had anything to fear.

It continued like this for about a week, and Robert had finally began to adjust to being catered to by this old man's spirit. Not to say he would get comfortable, but he came to expect it. The week afterwards, things started to change. The old man's spirit began to do less for Robert; he would no longer take care of doing the dishes for him; Robert had to start doing it himself. He did not mind at all. The week afterwards, however, the spirit stopped making meals for him. It would appear that the old man's spirit could finally rest in peace. However, Robert would soon discover that he was wrong about a great many things.

The week afterwards, whenever he woke up in the morning, he found the kitchen to be a mess! Before he could even think about making breakfast, he had to clean up the mess left behind; this would usually take all morning, and he would not get to eat breakfast until around eleven o'clock. The next week, in the middle of the afternoon, he would find mud tracks all along the hallways. As the weeks went by, things only seemed to get worse. There was even one instant when he found a razor blade floating in his soup! He might have died if he hadn't noticed it in time.

He then came to the conclusion that this was not the old man's spirit, but a evil spirit or demon of some sort trying to deceive and destroy him. After coming to this conclusion, he quickly went to the local church to enlist the help of a priest. He told the priest about what has been happening to him, and how he thinks that he might be haunted (or hunted) by a ghost or demon. The priest agreed to exorcise Robert's house that night so he could sleep peacefully once again.

The exorcism took about an hour; by the time it was over, Robert began to feel much better. He invited the priest to stay for a bit of tea; the two sat and chatted for a bit; again, what they spoke of matters little. However, while they were talking, Robert didn't feel paranoid at all. For once, it felt like he was safe, like he wasn't being hunted. It might have just been the presence of the priest, or it could have been the exorcism. Either way, he no longer felt afraid as he did before.

After a few hours of speaking, the priest bid Robert farewell and saw himself out. Robert then put himself to bed; however, he had some difficulty falling asleep.

As he lay there, he couldn't help but hear a weak, distant, shallow breathing; it was almost like wheezing. He opened his eyes wide, and looked around the room. Suddenly he felt tense; he felt as if he were being watched. But that was not all: Suddenly the room felt cold, and inside his own head he could hear the slow ticking of a grandfather clock. Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead, and slowly began to trickle down his face. He held his breath, waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, he hesitantly rested his head on his pillow, but did not close his eyes.

The room still felt cold, his heartbeat was quickening. And his breath, too, became shallow; he felt almost as if he were suffocating. And that ticking inside his head, it began to slow down; no, it wasn't ticking. Inside his own head he heard a grandfather clock strike midnight. He quickly sat up in his bed and frantically looked around the room. It got colder in there, all of a sudden. It felt almost like it was going to snow within the confines of his own room. And his skin-- his skin was growing pale, and his hands were trembling as he placed one over his heart, which was beating quicker than before-- it threatened to burst out of his chest. He was about to rush out of bed and go to his fiancee's house, but then he heard something: a sputtering cough. At this his eyes widened with understanding.

"I-I was never b-being haunted," He stammered aloud. "I-I was being hunted."

Just as he finished, his closet door swung open, and in the doorway was an unbelievable sight: An old man in a black suit, covered with dirt. His tan skin was filthy, his dark eyes were sunken, and what little white hair he had was messy all over. The old man screamed and leapt at Robert with a meat cleaver, and what little light there was in that room was suddenly snuffed out.


End file.
